Shoddy Dark Crusade Crossover Experiment of Doom
by Tiger Tank
Summary: A prototype for a work in progress.  This will essentially be a collection of short stories.  Man, I can't write for beans.  Rated T for Teen, I guess.  Rating subject to change, however.
1. HERESY!

**Disclaimer**: I do not own, nor am in any way affiliated with Nintendo, LucasArts, Games Workshop, Games Workshop Interactive, THQ, and/or Relic Entertainment. I do not own Star Wars, Star Wars: Republic Commando, the Warhammer 40,000 franchise, nor do I own Warhammer 40,000: Dawn of War and the related expansion titles (although I do own copies of the games which I have purchased _legally_). I do not own the Metroid series, but we do have copies of the games.

Please don't sue me, as I am a poor college student, at the time I am writing this (circa 2007). This silly fic is for entertainment purposes only, and I am not making any profit from this, whatsoever. Also, if you are easily offended by _anything_ (violence, nudity, harsh language, et cetera), then I highly suggest you GTFO. Nao. 83

Author's Notes: this is just a quick little one-shot. I'm in a creative writing mood, but I only seem to be capable of doing short(er) scenes - and not full-blown plots and/or storylines. So...rather than let it all rot and fester in my mind, I guess I'll get my ideas out in writing so I can (hopefully) make room for actually putting together a decent storyline and/or plot.

I acknowledge that _Dawn of War_ is a watered-down version of Warhammer 40,000. I'm only a casual fan of the Warhammer 40K fluff, so please don't bite my freakin' head off over some little minor detail. I've tried to do as much research as possible, short of buying all the codices from Games Workshop. I have better things to spend my money on, thank you very much.

For those who don't know: in the Warhammer 40K universe, the year is written xxx.Mxx. The "M" and the last two digits represent the millenium, and the first three digits represent the century, decade, and year. In that order.

For the sake of an example, this story takes place circa: 740.M41. So it would be 40,740 _Anno Domini _(A.D.; or Common Era - C.E. - if you prefer) according to the Gregorian calendar. Another example (and working backwards): 2007 A.D. (CE) would be written: 007.M03. I guess. Why is the year 1900 the twentieth century in the Gregorian calendar? Because the people who came up with it had no concept of "zero." I shit you not. Go study some history or something.

At any rate, enjoy the fic. Or go read some history. Whatever floats your boat.

Shoddy Dark Crusade Crossover One-Shot of Doom

_"The planet Kronus - beset on all sides by the tides of war, this once-quiet colony became a savage battlefield. Seven armies clashed on this one world: each refusing to back down, each convinced it was in the right. _

_"From beneath the sands of Kronus's central desert came the Necrons: ancient machines bent on eradicating _all life. _But another evil already had its eyes on the planet: from the depths of the Warp, the daemonic forces of Chaos arrived to enforce _their _claim. _

_"To oppose these fearsome powers, the planet's rulers in the T'au Empire sent their elite soldiers and sophisticated battle suits into the fray. From the mighty Imperium of Man came the Imperial Guard, there to secure Kronus for the glory of the God Emperor._

_"Like a green tide, the Ork horde descended on Kronus: caring little for others' claims and sowing destruction in its wake. The Eldar, ancient enemies of the Necrons, emerged from their webway to pursue their own agenda on Kronus. _

_"And last came the Space Marines: finest and most uncompromising of the Imperium's soldiers. Seeing a world beset by aliens and heretics, they undertook a great purge. _

_"The Dark Crusade had begun. It could only end with the total victory of one of these factions, and the total defeat of all others." - Campaign Introduction from Warhammer 40,000: Dawn of War - Dark Crusade._

_**The Rhean Jungle. Kronus. c.740.M41 **_

A human clad in bulky, iridescent, platinum armor wordlessly trudged through the dark, swampy marshlands of southern Kronus. A transparent, silver, triangular visor was set into the figure's helm, and a massive, cylindrical armcannon covered half of the armor-clad human's right forearm. The armor showed signs of having been in a recent battle: there were scorch marks on the armor that contrasted sharply with the light armor, as well as sizable dents - there were even the telltale furrows of savage claw marks gouged into the scintillating alloy surface.

Equally silent, and trailing just behind this human, were a pair of taller soldiers clad in near-identical, bulky, white armor of a different design. Their armor sported similar signs of damage, though it appeared to be much less extensive. One of them bore green stripes on his armor, and carried a variety of compact tools and communications gear. The other possessed orange geometric markings, and carried a small arsenal of spare munitions and some explosives. Their helmets encompassed their heads, completely obscuring their features behind glowing, blue, T-shaped visors. Both of these white-armored soldiers carried compact energy weapons in their gauntleted hands.

Dusk was already setting in, noticeable even with the fairly dense jungle canopy overhead. It had been a day since they had entered this lush jungle, as they fled from the hellish landscape they had initially found themselves in. Currently, they were traversing through a drier part of the jungle, with only a few insects buzzing around. The melodic, alien calls of birds trilled as other unusual lifeforms made themselves heard.

"Three-Eight," the green-striped soldier spoke over a short-wave radio communications frequency, finally breaking the oppressive silence that hung over the trio. His compatriot was silently glad for it. "Recommend we find someplace to sack it out."

"Good idea, Forty. Let's tell our friend, here." The orange-marked soldier, Three-Eight, switched over to a vocoder in his helmet, without any visible adjustment. "Hey, you. Let's find someplace to sleep, tonight." The silvery, almost ethereal figure halted and silently turned around to face them. The shorter human tilted his helmed head slightly, almost quizzically. Three-Eight was relieved that they apparently shared a common language.

Taking the stranger's actions to be an unvoiced question, the soldier elaborated, "aren't you tired at all? We should stop and make camp." The shorter armored human looked around for a moment, as if looking for something. For a second, Three-Eight wondered whether or not their friend had optical enhancements in that helmet. Finally, their companion returned his attention to the orange-marked trooper, Three-Eight, and gave a slight shrug.

Finding some dry ground, the troopers plopped down and removed their field packs, heaving relieved sighs. As they did so, they set their blasters off to the side - but well within reach, just in case they were needed. The silver-armored human remained standing on the side, ostensibly observing them, like some sort of silent, celestial sentinel.

The white-armored soldiers removed their helmets, allowing the smell of decay and the humid air to assail their senses, while the silver-armored human gave a start. Both men were completely identical, with skin the color of coffee and a head of short, curly, black hair. However, in spite of their similarities, there were also subtle, nearly undetectable differences between them - and if it weren't for the differently-colored armor they wore, it was unlikely that one could readily tell them apart.

Three-Eight noticed that their new friend looked as though he wanted to ask a question: being surrounded by numerous faces nearly identical to one's own, made one rather sensitive to subtleties. Forty seemed to notice it, as well. Unbeknownst to their silver-armored companion, both men were, in fact, clones: bred for war and with a life expectancy that was roughly a third of the average human male's lifespan. They and their brethren - their _vode, _in the parlance of their "template's" culture (as taught to them by their training sergeant) - were birthed in glass tanks, trained rigorously, and were shipped off to fight and die for a cause in which they had no stake.

Forty carefully watched as the silver-armored human knelt next to Three-Eight and proffered a tiny device. The green-striped clone shifted, preparing to draw his holstered blaster pistol. Somewhat warily, Three-Eight picked up the palm-sized, roughly disc-shaped device and found himself amazed - the device felt as though it weighed nothing, at all.

What surprised both of the clone soldiers was that the device began speaking as their companion began flashing a rapid-fire series of handsigns with his left gauntleted hand. "I beg your pardon," the device queried in a monotonous voice, "but just who are you, Three-Eight?" Bewildered, Three-Eight directed a glance toward his squadmate and subordinate. Forty looked on with a fascinated expression on his face. "It must be some sort of translation device, sir," the green-striped soldier postulated. "I think it somehow picks up his hand-signals and--"

"Correct, Forty," the device spoke again. "I apologize: it was not my intention to be rude. I am Samus Aran." Finally, they had a name; Three-Eight took that to be a good sign. The clone soldier raised his gloved hand in acknowledgement and replied, "no harm done. I'm R-C-one-one-three-eight. My subordinate, here--" he tilted his head to indicate the green-striped commando, "--is R-C-one-one-four-zero. We're commandos."

Aran, if that really was his name, seemed to be taken aback. "You have numbers - but no names?"

Three-Eight hesitated. On Kamino, the planet on which they were "born," clones were regarded as units - as if they were mere machines or battle droids. Individuality was almost always discouraged, but many of the Mandalorian training sergeants - most notably Walon Vau and Kal Skirata - defied the Kaminoans, and taught the clone commandos under their tutelage about the Mando'a culture and language. A Mando'a was nothing without his heritage and his culture, their training sergeants had explained, and would essentially be soulless without any of it.

So, in spite of the Kaminoans' efforts to stamp out these "deviations," the clones in general proved to be quite inventive, and even developed their own slang and nicknames; the elite, highly-trained commandos were even more prone to this practice. To Three-Eight's squadmates, his _vode_, he was known as "Boss." But nobody else outside of the squad, save for a few special exceptions, knew about the colloquialism.

_But now we're a two-man squad_, Three-Eight thought morosely. Their squadmate, RC-1207 - nicknamed "Sev" - was missing in action and presumed dead. His pod-brother, the squad's demolitions expert--

Boss couldn't even finish the painful thought; the memory of RC-1262's loss was fresh in his weary mind, and it was not something he wanted to dwell upon or even remember.

_If this keeps up, nobody will know we even existed_, Boss thought morbidly. _We could all bloody _die_ out here_.

_How is this different from any other mission?_

_This isn't a mission_, Three-Eight thought despondently, _we don't even have a clear objective_.

_Yes, you do,_ the other part of him shot back, _and it's quite simple: survive_.

Boss let out a low sigh and came to a decision.

"My squadmates call me 'Boss,'" he told Aran. He bit his lip before elaborating, "I'm the squad-leader." The platinum-armored human nodded silently and visibly shifted his gaze toward Forty. The green-striped commando, understandably, looked somewhat confused - his superior had just divulged knowledge only a select few outside of their squad knew about.

"Are you brothers?" the silver-armored human queried.

"In a manner of speaking." Boss elaborated, "we're actually clones - but we are all brothers." Samus seemed to absorb this for a moment, before turning to address Forty. "What is your name, Forty?" Aran's device queried - it seemed that the translator was able to keep pace with Aran's handsigns. Forty, being the squad's technological expert, found himself fascinated with the gadget. Reluctantly, the commando replied, "my squadmates call me 'Fixer.'" Samus quizzically cocked his head, again. "Most curious. Why are you known as 'Fixer?'"

"I'm an electronics and technological specialist," Forty stated matter-of-factly, not missing a beat. Beneath his veneer of calm, however, Fixer felt rather nervous and defensive. _Rather curious, isn't he_? Boss seemed to be thinking along the same lines: the orange-marked commando cut in, "and he's got a knack for fixing things. No offense, Samus, but what's with all the questions?"

"I apologize," Aran seemed to slump, slightly, in his armor. "It has been much too long since I have been able to sit down and converse with someone." The silver-armored human straightened, almost perking up, "do you have questions for me?"

"Yes. Do you know how we came about here?"

"I do not know," Samus replied. "I was fleeing a world of darkness. When I passed through the portal--"

"You came through a _portal_?" Fixer interrupted. Boss was rather keen on this detail, as well - he, Fixer, and their demolitions expert had all been chased through a bizarre and mysterious, ruined portal when their latest operation had gone awry.

"Yes. Perhaps I can show you, instead of retelling the story. My hands need a rest." It was impossible to tell with the translation device's monotonous voice, but that last statement sounded as if it were an attempt at humor. Fixer briefly wondered if Samus's sign language could convey emotion, but discarded the thought. Aran produced a small, extendable cable from his armcannon and offered it to Boss. Three-Eight took out the squad's holo-projector and communications booster and set the device up. Once that was accomplished, the commando stuck the cable into a slot on the projector - and it miraculously worked.

The trio was treated to what appeared to be blue-tinted gun-camera footage - apparently it was from Samus's perspective, as they could see his arm-cannon in the field of vision. They witnessed Aran fight with, and defeat, what appeared to be a doppelganger clad in dark armor. They then witnessed Aran run a gauntlet for a shimmering, iridescent portal before the camera footage stopped.

"It was not my intent to come to this wretched world," Aran "spoke" through the translation device, "yet here I stand. How did _you_ come to be on this wayward planet, friends?"

"We came through a portal, too," Boss answered, and Fixer nodded in agreement. "We were on the run from those droids you saved us from. Before those...those _things_ attacked us." Three-Eight scowled; he briefly remembered of the assortment of horrors that had mysteriously appeared and ambushed them all in that nightmarish landscape. Unfortunately for the two commandos, he and Fixer had perfect recall - another "adjustment" that the Kaminoan cloners had made to them prior to, and during, the period they were being grown in their tanks. The orange-marked command shook his head.

"I see," Samus replied and suddenly paused; their silver-armored compatriot let out a low, inhuman growl that emanated from his chest. Both Three-Eight and Forty picked up their blaster rifles and trained them on Aran; the still-helmed human looked confused and seemed to eye them as he started signing. "I apologize," the translation device piped up, "but do either of you have anything to eat?"

It took the commandos a moment to process the request. "Was that your _stomach_ growling?" Fixer queried incredulously. Aran hesitated for a moment before nodding in visible embarrassment. Exchanging glances, Boss and Fixer both chuckled in relief, shaking off the building tension and the stress of the past few days.

"I'm afraid we don't really have anything that tastes very good," Boss commented as he took out a clear ration cube and held it up for Aran to see. "Just these ration cubes."

"I see," Aran replied. "I shall return." With that, the silver-armored human leapt up and pushed off against the side of a tree, then another, repeating this incredible feat until he disappeared into the darkness of the canopy. The commandos watched in awe - while they were highly-trained soldiers, they couldn't help but be impressed by sheer ability. Or excellent weapons.

"Now _that's_ impressive," Three-Eight opined. Fixer nodded in agreement, "his technology is advanced beyond anything I've ever seen or heard of, Boss. I'm definitely impressed."

"Then we'll all get along famously, won't we?" The orange-marked commando replaced his helmet, hoping to use his night-vision to catch a glimpse of Aran as he leaped through the treetops like some sort of ghostly specter. "Think he's a Jedi?"

"With the exception of General Kenobi and Commander Jusik, I don't think I've ever seen a Jedi wearing armor, sir," Forty pointed out. Boss nodded, remembering the Jedi Knight in charge of the Special Forces division. Roughly a year ago, back in their universe, Delta Squad had worked alongside Jusik, Sergeant Skirata, the commandos of Omega Squad, and a few other individuals to deal with a Separatist terror cell that had been bombing facilities belonging to the Grand Army of the Republic. When they'd finally moved against the terrorist cell, Jusik had worn Mandalorian armor during the sortie and wielded his lightsaber - a very interesting paradox, given that Jedi and Mandalorians were, historically, rather bitter enemies.

The two commandos donned their helmets and kept an eye out for their new comrade, as well as any marauding threats that most likely roamed the jungle. As they waited, the two commandos covered themselves with dead foliage and slopped silty soil upon their armor to better blend in with their surroundings.

Darkness had shrouded the two commandos by the time Aran had returned. The silver-armored human landed nearby, sweeping his gaze around the dense jungle.

"Why are you hiding?" Aran's translator queried.

"How did you know we were still here?" Three-Eight shot back. He and Fixer did not move from their hiding places, just yet. There was still the possibility that Aran was bluffing.

"I oriented myself using the translation device you hold in your hand - it has a locator beacon, just in case," they saw Aran shrug, "in addition, your camouflage was not without flaw." The two commandos were speechless as they absorbed the silver-armored human's explanation - Boss was, again, quite impressed. It was quite apparent that Aran was a very experienced and resourceful tracker and hunter - at least, according to the standards Sergeant Vau had taught the clone commandos under his tutelage. And Sergeant Walon Vau - a seasoned, experienced, and skilled fighter - certainly _knew_ how to _hunt_.

"Very impressive," Three-Eight replied in earnest, finally revealing himself, and Forty followed suit. Their visors lit up, giving them the appearance of ghostly shadows with blue, T-shaped eyes. Shrugging off some of the vegetation on their armor in the darkness, both commandos saw that Aran had gathered a modest number of, naturally, unrecognizable fruits.

"They're not poisonous, are they?" Fixer voiced the question in Boss's mind.

"If I die, then you will know," the silver-armored human replied. Despite the monotony of the translation device's voice, Three-Eight thought he detected humor in Aran's words.

"That's not very assuring," Three-Eight groused as he eyed the pieces of fruit. He suddenly caught movement out the corner of his eye and his gaze - as well as his weapon - automatically shifted to focus on the source: Aran was removing his helmet.

_No...that's not right._ The armor _itself_ seemed to be coming off. _Why is he removing his armor_? How _is he doing it without using his hands_? Not believing what he was seeing, Boss watched in fascination as Aran's armor began to _disappear_, seemingly folding up unto itself. The pearlescent plates disappeared completely, revealing a bright, blue, form-fitting bodysuit. Stunned, the commandos both lowered their weapons.

What was even more surprising about Samus was the fact that _he_ was, in fact, a _she_; where the silver-armored human once stood, there was now an angelic, blonde-haired beauty that only stood as tall as Three-Eight's broad, armored shoulder. Aran's sapphire eyes rested on Boss as she gave a small, yet somewhat endearing smile. Staring at her from behind his helmet's visor, Three-Eight inexplicably found himself smiling back, unsure of how to react. Unlike Sergeant Skirata's "Null-class" Advanced Reconnaissance Commandos, many clones were never really taught how to handle social interactions - nothing beyond strict military protocols, at least. True, they had all learned to regard their fellow clones as brothers - but nobody had really bothered to explain how to deal with females that weren't commanders or officers.

Samus picked up a piece of fruit and promptly bit into it. Relieved, Three-Eight reached to unseal his helmet as Aran chewed with a pleased expression gracing her elegant countenance. Suddenly, the woman made a choking sound and stiffened, her eyes rolling back into her head. Alarmed, Three-Eight and Forty halted and stared as the blonde continued to claw at the air.

Before either of the commandos could step in, Aran suddenly burst into a silent fit of giggles - it had evidently been an act. Neither Fixer nor Boss appreciated the joke - both commandos stared silently at Aran, utterly bewildered. Smiling coquettishly, the blonde began signing with her free hand and the translation device spoke, "apologies, friends. My intent was to lift your spirits."

The commandos continued to stare in disbelief. Taking a seat on a rotting log, Aran continued to eat in embarrassed silence, shrinking and wilting under their gaze. Finally, Boss shrugged and removed his helmet, once again. The orange-marked commando picked up one of the fruits and tossed it to Fixer, who deftly caught it in his free gauntleted hand. As the green-striped commando set aside his blaster and removed his helmet, Three-Eight picked up another fruit and bit into it.

Boss's dark eyes widened in delight as he relished the sweet flavor of the fruit - it certainly beat eating the standard-issue ration cubes. The trio ate in relative silence, each lost in his or her own thoughts. Once they'd finished, Fixer dug a hole in the ground to dispose of the remnants of their meal. They leaned back against nearby tree trunks as they rested and digested their food. The commandos had donned their helmets, but Aran remained in her unarmored state.

"What do we do now, Three-Eight?" Fixer asked as he buried the cores of the fruits they'd all consumed. When the orange-marked commando did not reply, Forty turned to look at his superior. "Boss?"

"We need intel, so we'll have to look for locals," Three-Eight finally said, "if there _are_ any to be found on this blasted planet."

"I thought I saw a settlement to the northwest," Samus piped up. "As I foraged amongst the trees, I could see palls of smoke."

"How far?" Boss queried.

"A day's journey," the huntress replied, pausing to swat irritably at a rather large insect. "It would be advisable for us to sleep, tonight."

"Agreed," the orange-marked commando nodded. He and Fixer got to their feet and began to splash more mud upon their armor in an attempt to better camouflage themselves. As they continued to prepare themselves for sleep, Aran silently yawned and favored the two commandos with a weary smile.

"I wish you a good night's rest, friends." With that, the blonde woman deftly leapt up into the treetops and disappeared, once again. Three-Eight couldn't help himself as he paused in his work, watching Aran's curvaceous form disappear into the darkness. "Very impressive," he mused quietly.

End.

Author's Notes: Yeah. Just tinkering around with stuff. I'm thinking I'm going to make a small collection of short stories that may or may not be related to each other. More likely the former than the latter. Gawd, my writing stinks.

**OMAKE!** My take on how the campaign story _could have_ progressed in Warhammer 40,000: Dawn of War - Dark Crusade. Point and laugh at my ignorance and shoddy writing!

**The History of the Dark Crusade?**

By the time the Blood Ravens had arrived to begin their purge of Kronus (c.739.M41), Farseer Taldeer's strike force had completely bypassed the T'au forces stationed in and around Asharis (Ores Tash'n) and were literally at the doorstep of the Necron stronghold in the Thur'abis plateau. The wily Eldar had taken a long, winding route to reach their position, and were amassing for an enormous operation. The Necrons, surprisingly (having awakened around the same time the Imperial Guard had arrived on the planet to retake it in the name of the God Emperor), had not expanded beyond the territories around the Thur'abis plateau - seemingly biding their time and waiting for the opportune moment to strike. In fact, the Necrons lost several of their territories to the Imperial Guard.

The First Kronus "Liberators" of the Imperial Guard, under the command of Governor-Militant Lukas Alexander, had already established themselves (having arrived several years earlier, c.734.M41) and were still busy staving off advances made by the forces of Chaos Undivided and Warlord Gorgutz Headhunter's Waaagh. In spite of Brother-Captain Davian Thule's order for the Imperial Guard to withdraw from the planet, Alexander stoutly refused to retreat.

It was in North Vandea where the Space Marines constructed the _Castellum Incorruptus_, near a large number of relics deemed sacred by the Blood Ravens' Chapter Master and their Master Librarian. However, the fortress could not receive reinforcements directly from orbit - so a forward outpost was constructed to receive drop pods and landing craft on the planet surface.

Weeks later, upon the rapid completion of the Blood Ravens' massive castellum, Thule launched a two-pronged assault, seizing the Panrea Lowlands and the Orestan Plains - from the T'au and the recently established Imperial planetary defense forces, respectively. The Blood Ravens' willingness to fight against the Imperial Guard did not go unnoticed: whispers began that the relics the Ravens sought were more damning than holy. The Blood Ravens soon claimed the Vandean coast, seizing the ancient manufacturing facilities that lay there and granting them access to more resources. At the same time, Blood Raven scouts began infiltrating and observing the T'au-held spaceport of Pavonis, to the south.

Once the Blood Ravens finished fortifying their newly-acquired territories, they stormed Pavonis and wrested control of the massive facility from the T'au garrison. The T'au raised a rigorous defense against the mighty Space Marines - upon news of the impending assault, however, humans still loyal to the Imperium rose up against the T'au forces stationed in the region and allowed the Blood Ravens to take Pavonis. The humans who had taken up arms against the Space Marines were summarily executed, and their corpses hung from lampposts in the city streets, as a warning to other potential T'au sympathizers and traitors.

From there, the Blood Ravens launched a vicious assault on the T'au capitol of Ores Tash'n - Asharis, to use its true Imperial name. The mighty Space Marines stormed the city, shrugging off sniper fire and ambushes, and ultimately assassinated the T'au Ethereal leader, Aun'el Shi O'Res. With the Ethereal dead, the T'au military leader - Shas'O Kais - recovered the Ethereal's corpse and promptly withdrew all T'au forces from Asharis. T'au morale crumbled, and their remaining territories were quickly captured by the Blood Ravens and the Orks. At this point, the Blood Ravens became busy fending off both the deathless Necron aliens and the vile greenskins.

Taking advantage of this opening, Eldar Farseer Taldeer launched a desperate strike into the caverns beneath the Thur'abis plateau. A strike force infiltrated the Necron catacombs and set a powerful wave-distort charge within the main cavern. The Eldar forces then made a hasty retreat for the surface, with Necron forces killing many as they fled. Many more Eldar were killed as the bomb detonated, causing the caverns to collapse and crush the aliens before they could escape. The Farseer's gambit paid off, however, and the Necrons were crushed and sealed beneath tons of rock and sand, effectively taking them out of the fight for Kronus. It was alleged that the Farseer had ostensibly recruited a trio of powerful Space Marines of unknown affiliation to aid her - but these rumors were immediately dismissed and branded as heresy.

With the Necrons dealt with, Taldeer's sights shifted toward a more recent, but still ancient, foe: the daemonic forces of Chaos. However, she did not go for a direct approach: instead, she advanced southwest, following the Blood Ravens as they marched from Asharis for the Green Coast, with the Space Marines seizing territories and slaughtering the foul green-skins as they went.

The Kronus Liberators continued to hold against the Orks, of Gorgutz's Waaagh, and the forces of Chaos Undivided; the latter of which repeatedly attempted to break out of the Deimos peninsula in order to spread their heretical beliefs and blasphemy across the face of Kronus. However, more and more of the stalwart soldiers began to fall to the ruinous powers, and turned against the God Emperor. The territories surrounding Victory Bay slowly began to fall under the control of the blasphemous, heretical cults and the abominable daemons of Chaos.

At the same time, however, the Orks were beating back the ruinous powers, even to the point of seizing the Rhean Jungle that lay just west of the Deimos peninsula.

The Space Marines and the Eldar arrived at the Green Coast at the same time - however, Taldeer chose to resort to her habitual manipulations and kept her forces hidden as the Space Marines advanced deep into the dark, swampy jungles of the Green Coast.

As the Blood Ravens began to purge the Ork-infested swamps, Taldeer's forces performed surgical hit-and-run strikes to destroy the massive banners belonging to the various clans comprising Gorgutz's warband - or 'Waaagh', in the parlance of the greenskins. The destruction of these banners ultimately shattered the confidence the fractious clans and tribes held in the warboss, and the massive horde picked itself apart with vicious in-fighting and rebellion.

The Space Marines swiftly crushed the disorganized mobs of Orks and went after Gorgutz, himself. However, the surprisingly cunning Ork warlord disappeared after leveling his own stronghold with explosives planted in the area - despite the lack of a corpse, it was largely assumed that the Ork warlord had died in the massive explosions that had consumed his base. With Gorgutz Headhunter's great horde broken up into factions, the threat posed by the influential Orkish warlord was effectively eliminated. As the Blood Ravens continued their purge of Kronus's southern swamplands, the Eldar of Craftworld Ulthwe disappeared from the region and escaped the mailed fist of the God Emperor.

Once having fled from the Space Marines in the Green Coast, the Eldar pushed toward the Deimos peninsula and set up a base of operations in the Rhean jungles.

Months later, the forces of Chaos finally overwhelmed the Imperial Guard's bastion in Victory Bay, killing Governor-Militant Lukas Alexander and scattering the loyalist Guardsmen across the region. Many of these groups were quickly put down, but squads of Kasrkins - and even a Vindicare assassin - continued to carry out guerilla actions against the forces of Chaos...

Possible Endings:

A) The Blood Ravens purge and retake Kronus, claiming it for the glory and in the name of the God Emperor. Taldeer's forces (along with Boss, Samus, and possibly Fixer) escape from Kronus. Along with Taldeer's pet Vindicare assassin (ZOMG "LOVE CAN BLOOM" REFERENCE!). 83

B) The Blood Ravens take Kronus and defeat the Eldar, leaving Taldeer and many Eldar (along with Boss, Samus, and possibly Fixer) stranded in the wilderness of the planet (BAD END).

C) Have Boss and Samus BECOEM HEROES as they delay the Blood Ravens long enough for Taldeer and her Vindicare assassin to escape.

Yeah. It's a work in progress. Man, I suck. XP


	2. Thurabis Plateau  Part I

**Disclaimer**: I do not own, nor am in any way affiliated with Nintendo, LucasArts, Games Workshop, Games Workshop Interactive, THQ, and/or Relic Entertainment. I do not own Star Wars, Star Wars: Republic Commando, the Warhammer 40,000 franchise, nor do I own Warhammer 40,000: Dawn of War and the related expansion titles (although I do own copies of the games which I have purchased legally). I do not own the Metroid series, but we do have copies of the games.

Please don't sue me, as I am a poor college student, at the time I am writing this (circa 2007). This silly fic is for entertainment purposes only, and I am not making any profit from this, whatsoever. Also, if you are easily offended by _anything_ (violence, nudity, harsh language, et cetera), then I highly suggest you GTFO. Nao. 83

Author's Notes: this is just a quick little one-shot. I'm in a creative writing mood, but I only seem to be capable of doing battlefield scenes. So...rather than let it all rot and fester in my mind, I guess I'll get my ideas out in writing so I can (hopefully) make room for actually putting together a decent storyline and/or plot.

In the Warhammer 40K universe, the year is written XXX.MXX. The "M" and the last two digits represent the millenium.

For the sake of an example, this story takes place circa: 740.M41. So it would be 40,740 _Anno Domini _(A.D.; or Common Era - C.E. - if you prefer) according to the Gregorian calendar. I think? Another example (and working backwards): 2007 A.D. (CE) would be written: 007.M03. I guess. Why is the year 1900 the twentieth century in the Gregorian calendar? Because the people who came up with it had no concept of "zero." I shit you not. Go study some history or something.

At any rate, enjoy the fic. Or go read some history. Whatever floats your boat.

Oneshot: The Battle of Thur'abis Plateau (Part One)

_"The full extent of the Necron presence on Kronus did not become clear until those opposing them launched raids into the catacombs under the Thur'abis Plateau. The first Necron massacres on the planet had occurred there, and their enemies expected to find some sort of alien bastion: instead, they found an entryway into the underworld. _

_"Garbled reports from doomed scouts sent into the cavernous passageways revealed a network of catacombs honeycombing the entire plateau. Some of these now stood hollowed out, while others served as staging grounds for Necron forces. Worst of all, however, were the deeper tunnels, where row upon row of Necrons still stood, slowly waking to join their lord's global genocide. _

_"The attackers settled on a dangerous gambit: a strike force would enter the catacombs and plant a massive explosive device deep in the main cavern. An explosion there would collapse the entire network, crushing or sealing off the legions of dormant Necrons and shattering those already risen. _

_"It remained to be seen if anyone could deliver this device, much less escape in time to continue the fight across Kronus." - _Campaign speech for assault on Necron stronghold, from Warhammer 40,000: Dawn of War - Dark Crusade

**The Thur'abis Plateau. Kronus. c.740.M41.**

Atop a hill overlooking the mouth of a cave, Farseer Taldeer watched in silence as the impressive army bearing the colors and banners of Craftworld Ulthwe proceeded into the inky, foreboding darkness of the cavern's massive entrance. Clad in polished, seamless black armor, and her elongated helm tucked under her arm, the dark-haired seer's sight of the future became clouded and tumultuous, even in the ostensible calm before the inevitable storm; the desperate struggle against the Ancient Enemy, the Yngir, loomed inexorably in Taldeer's mind like an ominous shadow. The cavern, itself, was a portal leading into the Necron catacombs beneath the Thur'abis plateau.

Thousands upon thousands of Black Guardians clad in magnificent, onyx-and-ivory, psychoplastic armor marched alongside fleet, graceful vehicles: Fire Prism and Falcon tanks, jetbikes, Vypers, and Wave Serpent transports. The immaculate, armored hulls of the hovering vehicles shone brightly, gleaming radiantly even in the failing daylight. Aboard a few of the open-decked Wave Serpents were a colorful smattering of loin-clothed aspect warriors and exarchs hailing from their respective shrines: the broad-shouldered Warp Spiders - resembling arachnids in their greyish armor - stood on the exposed decks, carrying their lethal death-spinners in their gauntleted hands; the death-masked Dark Reapers, clad in black armor, easily held their deadly death reaper launchers; the predominately female Howling Banshees - clad in bone-white armor - held their slender power swords and shuriken pistols, seemingly ready to spring at their foes and bring swift, bladed death upon their foes; and the orange-armored, yellow-helmed Fire Dragons stood ready with their bulky, short-ranged fusion-guns capable of burning through tank armor.

On the Craftworld of Ulthwe, Aspect Warriors were very rare - instead, the bulk of Ulthwe's military might was comprised of the elite, infamous Black Guardians. Among the considerably smaller numbers of the specialized Aspect Warriors, the Dark Reapers - dedicated to the Phoenix Lord Maugan Ra, who hailed from the lost Craftworld of Altansar - were the most numerous; the numbers of warriors in the other Aspect Shrines were even smaller, each group of Aspect Warriors no larger than a dozen.

On some of the other Wave Serpents, groups of seers and warlocks stood, resplendent in stately, yet sinister, robes adorned with shining warp stones - each seer armed with dual-bladed sword and shuriken pistol. Taldeer felt a familiar, yet alien, presence behind her. Were it not for her psychic abilities, the Eldar farseer would have found it somewhat difficult to detect her visitor's approach - Taldeer was mildly impressed by how quietly the somewhat clumsy _mon'keigh_, "Three-Eight", had come. 'Farseer,' the _mon'keigh_ stated in his low, distinctly accented voice, 'R-C-one-one-three-eight reporting as ordered. My squad is ready to move.' His tone was clipped and efficient - although his base and primitive speech still hurt Taldeer's sensitive ears.

With an inhuman, hypnotic grace, the farseer turned to face Three-Eight, the hem of her beige robes sweeping around her armored legs and her shoulder cape flapped dramatically in the wind. Taldeer, like most Eldar, was unnaturally lithe and slender, yet her elegant form possessed curves that readily distinguished female humanoids from males. She also posessed a fair, smooth complexion, with an oblong gem seemingly imbedded in the middle of her forehead. Emanating from her armored back and framing her high cheek-boned face were a pair of seemingly decorative Wraithbone protrusions, with highly polished gems imbedded within them, looking almost like bony wings. The heavily armored, orange-marked trooper the Eldar farseer now faced briefly stared at her form-fitting breastplate before looking up into her silver-irised eyes.

In turn, Taldeer briefly looked Three-Eight over. His bulky, white, plated armor was undeniably ugly, but it was not as repugnant as the bulkier, blood-red armor worn by the delusional, "Emperor"-worshipping_mon'keigh_, nor was it as hideous as the armor worn by the fallen servants of the Great Enemy. Asymmetrical, orange markings had been painted onto its pock-marked surface, though some of the paint had been scratched or scraped off: evidence of wear and regular use. Three-Eight stood nearly as tall as Taldeer, and was much more solidly built; the farseer was still undecided as to whether or not this human was a genetically-enhanced "Astartes." But he had a different air about him, something that even the Eldar farseer couldn't quite give a name to.

_Very well_, Taldeer projected the thought into the soldier's mind. _We shall proceed into the Ancient Enemy's Lair - your..."squad"...is to protect the distort-charge that we require for our mission_. Although the human betrayed no outward emotion, Taldeer could sense that Three-Eight seemed slightly bewildered by the psychic intrusion into his mind, even though this was not the first time she had done so. Unlike many _mon'keigh_ she had encountered, he did not react with indignant outrage when she'd first probed into his mind - he merely seemed to be perplexed by the Farseer's psychic ability. Also surprising was that he made no effort to shut her out, either - rather, he exuded an almost child-like sense of curiosity when she delved into his mind. _A very unusual human,_ Taldeer thought to herself. _Almost like a child_. The farseer almost scoffed at this thought as she donned her elongated helmet. It was a fairly appropriate comparison; the humans were an infantile race, especially compared to the Eldar - the Eldar empire had flourished for millenia, long before even the first, clumsy attempts of the human race to sojourn into stars.

'Understood,' Three-Eight nodded in acknowledgement; to the Eldar farseer, it was a crude, martial gesture common amongst even the ranks of the Eldar. 'One more thing, Farseer.' Taldeer inclined her head, indicating that he could continue. 'My squad and I are low on ammo for our weapons. Would you happen to have any weapons or ammo to spare among your forces?'

_You are familiar with our technology?_ The farseer's question was deliberately ambiguous and somewhat testy in its neutral tone - within her question, there were hints of accusation and suspicion. The memory of their first encounter had clearly not been forgotten - the clone commando and one of his squadmates had _killed_ some of Taldeer's Guardians and taken their weapons before being convinced to lay down their arms. With some hesitation, Three-Eight replied, 'not exactly, but we'll figure it out.' Taldeer stared at him for a moment, trying to read the seemingly unreadable commando. Finally, she gave a nod of approval. _You and your squad shall have your weapons, Three-Eight_.

'Thank you, farseer.' Without further ado, the orange-marked trooper trudged away, undoubtedly in search of his similarly primitive compatriots. The Eldar farseer watched the armored human's ugly and awkward gait as he departed, wrinkling her nose in distaste. _To think that I would consort with the filthy mon'keigh_, the young farseer thought. _They are but barbaric, treacherous animals_.

_Do not underestimate the mon'keigh, Farseer Taldeer_, a deep, booming voice chided in her mind. The voice was a complicated, interwoven mix of paternal patience and patronization. _They are base and vulgar, yes, but that does not mean that they are weak and useless_. Taldeer recognized the voice immediately. _Lord Ulthran, I do not understand why you would have me suffer the mon'keigh. The contingent of the Vision of Lilieth will be enough to serve our purposes on Kronus._

_A fell wind has blown us onto this course, _Eldrad Ulthran replied,_and it has stranded these mon'keigh into your midst. As you are well aware, it is our way to see into the myriad paths and possibilites of the future, and to plot a course through the future in order to avoid conflicts and to ensure our own survival. However, there are times where our glories must be achieved through military ventures - and Kronus is one such venture. _

_Yes, but what of these mon'keigh_? Taldeer queried. However, the farseer did not receive a reply.

In spite of their shortcomings, Taldeer felt, the trio of _mon'keigh_ were an intriguing and somewhat tolerable group - and they admittedly had their uses in her campaign on Kronus. Perhaps she would keep them around...

Delta-Three-Eight found his two squadmates chatting animatedly next to one of the sleek, heavily armored tanks that the Eldar utilized. Boss took a moment to admire the vehicle - it vaguely reminded him of the bizarrely-shaped Armored Assault Tanks used by the Separatists in his universe. However, unlike the deadly droid-crewed hover-tank, this Eldar vehicle was much bigger, apparently capable of carrying a squad of infantry within its armored hull, and it was armed with a long-barreled, turret-mounted beam weapon and nose-mounted anti-personnel weapons. The Falcon tank also had an armored cockpit and canopy - whereas the AAT's control center was hidden within its heavily armored hull. For a brief moment, the orange-marked commando wondered how the two tanks might compare in combat - how they might fare against each other in a head-to-head engagement. He immediately dismissed the idea - it wasn't even a remote possibility, barely worth considering. Besides, he had other concerns to deal with, now.

His compact DC-17M blaster in hand, Three-Eight pointedly cleared his throat as he stood behind the trooper that wore armor similar to his own - with the exception of the green stripes painted on the man's armor. His compatriot - RC-1140, otherwise known as "Fixer" - immediately turned about and snapped to attention.

'What's the plan, Lead? Are we getting new weapons?' the green-striped trooper queried. Behind Fixer, a pretty, young, blonde woman clad in a blue, form-fitting bodysuit - the third, unofficial member of their "squad" - gave Three-Eight a silent and respectful nod. After nodding to acknowledge the woman's greeting, the orange-marked commando tilted his helmed head to indicate the sleek tank they stood next to. 'Farseer Taldeer assured me that we will be getting some spare weapons, momentarily. As for our objective: we're riding shotgun on this tank and its cargo, _vode _- my siblings. It's carrying a rather powerful, explosive device that's going to bury the Eldar's enemies beneath this whole plateau; we'll be escorting it to the drop point, activating the device, and getting out before it blows.'

'Won't that bring the caves down on us, too?' Forty queried. Three-Eight gave a noncommittal shrug, 'there's a timer on the device - we'll have precisely one hour to escape from the caverns once the device is placed and activated.' Fixer did not reply. Delta Squad had tackled difficult missions before: that's what they were trained to do. During their "childhood" (if it could be called as such) on Kamino - under the tutelage of the brutal Mandalorian warrior, Walon Vau - the company of clones Boss had trained with spent hours upon hours in combat simulations and, later, live-fire combat exercises. Numerous maneuvers, procedures and drills were indelibly etched into their minds, effectively serving as their killer instinct; in combat, there was no time for conscious thought and effort - there was only time to do what you were trained to do. As Boss and Fixer had observed countless times, hesitation almost invariably resulted in unnecessary death or injury. Neither outcome was acceptable.

'Question, Boss,' said a monotonous voice, almost visibly jolting Three-Eight out of his brief and grim reverie. It emanated from a tiny device secured to Fixer's webbing. The blonde woman was making hand gestures as the synthesized voice asked, 'who are these foes that the Eldar fear?'

'I don't know, Samus,' Three-Eight admitted, 'but we'll need to be ready for anything that might be thrown our way.' Samus nodded and closed her stunning blue eyes as if in concentration. There was a blinding flash of light, so bright that even Boss's polarized visor slit had a hard time filtering it out. The light slowly dimmed, revealing Aran clad in chromed, platinum armor plating. Three-Eight couldn't make out her facial features behind the platinum, triangular visor of the helmet encompassing Aran's head.

The bounty-hunter hefted and shouldered the cylindrical arm-cannon mounted onto her right arm, giving a nod and a gauntleted thumbs-up to Three-Eight, indicating that she was ready. A squad of the Eldar farseer's Guardians purposefully strode toward the trio, with shuriken catapaults slung over their armored shoulders and bundles of equipment in their hands; the aliens seemed to regard the humans with a hint of disgust and disdain. Up close, the commandos could see that the Eldar Guardians wore white helmets and shoulder pauldrons, with blood-red eyepieces set into the helm. Ammunition pouches were secured to their belts, and shining Waystones were set into the Guardians' breastplates. Upon closer inspection, Three-Eight noticed, there was a slight difference in the build of the Eldar - some of them appeared to be female, judging by their more rounded and pronounced breastplates and hips. The commando wasn't at all surprised - from his flash-training, he knew there were a few races in his own universe where females were not only recruited to be soldiers, but they were high-ranking officers who had proved themselves in combat. Presently, the Eldar Guardian whose hands weren't full - apparently the squad leader - offered a graceful, military bow to Three-Eight before gesturing to the equipment held by his subordinates.

_Your weapons and ammunition, _mon'keigh_ - courtesy of the farseer,_ the Eldar Guardian's silky and distinctly feminine voice flowed in the minds of the humans.

'Ah, thank you,...' Three-Eight paused, unsure of how to address this Eldar warrior - he certainly didn't want to insult the black-clad Guardian. The Eldar seemed to pick up on the clone soldier's predicament and helpfully supplied, _I am Yrrith Tsor, Guardian of the Craftworld Ulthwe_. _Have you been instructed in the use of our weapons_?

'Not exactly. I'd appreciate it if you could give us a crash-course, Guardian.' The Guardian hesitated for a moment, studying Three-Eight, before nodding in assent. The two commandos secured their DC-15M blasters onto their thigh armor, before accepting the Eldar weapons and examining them; as they did so, Yrrith Tsor ran them through the intricacies of operating the small arsenal of Eldar small arms - including the shuriken catapault, and a long-barreled rifle that propelled a large-bore slug at hypersonic speeds. Aran watched silently, occasionally shifting her weight, as the commandos selected weapons to supplement their own sizable arsenals.

_Kandosii_, Three-Eight marveled as he held the sleek catapault. _Very nice_. Indeed, the Eldar weapon felt wonderful in his gloved hands, the ergonomic design almost giving it an organic feel. It was _lighter_ than his DC-17M, and the orange-marked commando briefly wondered if it bounced - he hoped that it was more robust than it felt. Boss trained the catapault's muzzle up at the sky, attempting to peer down the weapon's unsual sights.

'Very nice, Boss,' Fixer verbally echoed Three-Eight's silent approval. The green-striped commando experimentally removed the shuriken catapault's detachable magazine and cleared the chamber. _It gladdens me to see that there are some _mon'keigh_ who can recognize excellence,_ Yrrith Tsor commented. _Take as many spare munitions as you can carry, _mon'keigh. _You_will_ need them_.

Once the two commandos had loaded up, the Guardian squad departed, following the bulk of the Ulthwe army into the darkness. Three-Eight turned to his squadmates and barked, 'squad! Let's move out!' With that, the trio and the Falcon tank proceeded into the cavern, swallowed up by the darkness. Unseen by the humans, a small cloud of scintillating, shimmering, multi-colored lights soundlessly followed them into the cavern.

**Several hours later. Beneath the Thur'abis Plateau. Kronus. c.740.M41.**

Samus craned her neck as she looked up into the darkness that was seemingly hovering over the Falcon tank. Inky darkness loomed over them all, as if there were no ceiling to this cavern. The silver-armored human even cycled through her helm's enhanced-vision visor modes in an attempt to glimpse the ceiling, to no avail; it was as though they had truly entered another world.

It was not uncomfortable for her to be within the confines of the cavern - indeed, Aran had spent days on end in her missions against the Zebesian space pirates. But, at least on the myriad of alien worlds she had fought on, there was the comforting presence of local wildlife. With the exception of her squadmates and the Eldar, there was nothing alive in the cavern, nothing moving or making any natural sounds; she checked her suit's proximity bio-sensors and saw that it was completely blank, except for the signatures that denoted herself and her squadmates. There was a fleeting contact that seemed to be following them, skirting at the edges of Samus's sensor range, but whenever the bounty-hunter turned to look, she saw nothing.

The unbearable and deathly silence smothered Samus, broken only by her increasingly frantic breathing. The platinum-armored bounty hunter never did care for peace and quiet - since it usually meant that she was walking straight into an ambush. Even more unnerving was the complete absence of any hostile forces. While Aran was glad that the squad had not yet encountered the enemies of the Eldar, she was also greatly concerned. She was suddenly reminded of her recent experiences with the Ing on the planet of Aether.

The Ing were shadowy, frightening, otherworldly beasts that came from another dimension accessible through portals of swirling, unfathomable energies - much like the one that had transported her to this wayward planet. The Ing could leave their dark dimension at will, although they often did so to possess the bodies and minds of other life forms outside their dimension - as though they were otherwise unable to sustain their presence in a world other than their own. In what seemed to be their home dimension, the Ing came in a myriad of forms, although all of them were capable of assuming an amorphous, slithering, shadowy form. This ability allowed them to blend into the shadows of their world extraordinarily well, enabling them to ambush their prey. The fresh memories presently caused the bounty hunter to tense up.

Something felt horribly, horribly wrong. She found herself beginning to wonder just what these enemies of the Eldar were, and how she might identify them. Why might they hide away beneath the Earth, in a dark underworld seemingly devoid of all life? Perhaps, she thought grimly, these enemies are so vicious or repellent that they drive away other life forms. Given the complete absence of life, however, that theory was unlikely - even large carnivores would give no notice to tiny lizards or insects. And it certainly didn't explain the lack of fungal life forms. All these thoughts and concerns rushed around inside Aran's mind, putting her on the edge.

The silver-armored human nearly jumped as Boss put a gauntleted hand on her shoulder. '_Udesii - _relax, Samus,' he whispered, 'we don't want any friendly-fire accidents.' The silent bounty hunter only nodded, involuntarily relaxing a hair. Finally, they arrived at the forward command post, where several support platforms and webway portals were erected. The pristine, wraithbone structures glimmered in the dim light that shone in from the cave entrance. A platoon-sized group of Ulthwe Guardians stood poised within the base, apparently pulling guard duty.

Their Falcon tank stopped at the webway assembly, a roughly triangular structure that towered over everything in the cave - yet it did not seem even remotely capable of reaching the ceiling, in spite of its apparent height. The Farseer stood waiting, armed with a massive spear and gazing at the humans expectantly. Behind the Farseer, they could see distant flashes of light, as well as the explosions that accompanied them.

Out of nowhere, a cloud of dazzling, scintillating, multi-colored lights appeared between them. Startled, Samus and the commandos trained their weapons on the cloud. However, they lowered their weapons when the cloud resolved into a humanoid figure, clad in a garish, brightly-colored bodysuit. While their weapons were lowered, the squad's weapons were still pointed in the general direction of the newcomer, ready to snap back up and fire - they were very uneasy.

_Is the distort weapon ready_? Taldeer's rich tones rolled through the squad's minds. With an ostentatious twirl, the masked Harlequin pivoted on the ball of one foot to look at Samus and her compatriots, before turning back to face Taldeer in the same fluid motion. The bounty-hunter found herself amazed at the control, strength, and grace exhibited in that action - in all her experiences across her galaxy, Aran had never seen a race capable of what the Harlequin seemed capable of. Her clone companions, however, did not display any visible reaction.

_Yes, Farseer,_ the Harlequin replied in an unsettling sing-song, _carry this weapon into the bowels of these catacombs and you may eliminate these Necrons once and for all_.

_I see great strife between now and then, Harlequin, but I shall _not_ fail._

_But Taldeer, it is too dangerous, _the Harlequin protested dramatically, _were you to fall to the enemy, we could not continue._

_Then I shall not fall, Harlequin. I will live to fight another day_.

The Harlequin paused for a moment, visibly troubled. However, the multi-colored Eldar seemed to accept Taldeer's decision with another ostentatious twirl, then spoke, _Taldeer, I have seen terrible things hidden within these catacombs. _

_I have seen the visions, as well, Harlequin. I shall dispatch rangers to scout those areas._ With a nod and a handsignal, teams of Eldar Rangers - clad in their silvery, light-bending cameleoline cloaks, disappeared into the shadowy depths of the cave. They were visible only as very slight disturbances in the air, almost impossible to detect. However, Aran had the means to detect objects that escaped the visible spectrum, and immediately took advantage; switching over to her "dark" visor mode with a glance and a blink, the bounty-hunter could easily track the progress of the fleet-footed Rangers as they disappeared into the horizon. At that moment, it suddenly struck Aran just how _enormous_ the cavern was.

_If these caverns are big enough to _have_ a horizon, I can't imagine just how large an enemy presence could be hiding down here._ The thought was sobering and somewhat distressing, but the hardened bounty hunter forced the thought aside. _What'm I worrying about? I haven't even seen what we're up against, yet. _

The bounty hunter inwardly shuddered. _I just hope they're not Metroids. And I _really_ hope they're not anything like the Ing_.

_The Yngir are unlike anything you may have encountered, Samus Aran of the Chozo_. Taldeer's thought rang loud and clear like bell in Aran's mind. Startled, Samus shot a bewildered look to the Eldar farseer - she hadn't even realized that the farseer could see into her mind. The farseer ignored the bounty-hunter's reaction and continued, _they find all life in the galaxy to be offensive, and thus strive to extinguish life wherever they find it. They cannot be destroyed or killed. But they _can_ be stopped, and they _can_ be detained; _that_ is our goal, here: to put a stop to the Yngir before they can expand their campaign of genocide and destroy my people_.

Samus nodded gravely. 'I'll take your word for it,' the silver-armored human replied.

_Then let us proceed, humans_.

Taldeer and her retinue of robed, Eldar seers marched in the direction the Rangers had departed, escorted by a handful of exarchs from the various Aspect Temples: the Howling Banshees, the Dark Reapers, the Warp Spiders, and the Fire Dragons followed the farseer and her retinue. Compared to many of the other Eldar Craftworlds, Ulthwe generally had very few Aspect Warriors and a larger percentage of Exarchs. Faceless Wraithguards - humanoid war machines with large, bulbous, featureless heads and armed with large energy weapons - trudged after their brethren. Through an abominable practice, the heavily-armed mechanical constructs were infused with the ancient souls of the Eldars' ancestors, making them into powerful, indefatigable and fearless warriors. Towering above them, at nearly thirty meters in height, a magnificent and gangly Wraithlord lumbered amongst the Wraithguards, armed with its powered fists, arm-mounted flame-throwers, a shoulder-mounted brightlance beam weapon, and a massive broadsword. The Wraithlord resembled its smaller counterparts, but its limbs were much longer and were skinnier in comparison, all attached to the giant machine's tiny torso. Like the Wraithguards, the Wraithlord had a bulbous, elongated head with no eyes or facial features.

Boss flashed a handsignal to Fixer, and the green-striped commando fell in behind his orange-marked compatriot. Samus took her cue and followed Boss. Bringing up the rear, the Falcon tank loaded with the distort charge gravitated after them, slowly. They hadn't proceeded for half a klick before the Farseer and her forces halted. Aran instinctively switched into that blank void of nothingness, readying herself for battle. Without even consciously thinking about it, Samus concentrated and she felt a warm, pulsing sensation in her arm-cannon as she charged up her power beam. The hardened bounty hunter paid no mind to the pulsating, glowing orb that grew at the end of her arm cannon's muzzle.

In front of her, Boss and Fixer had spread out and had their weapons up and ready to fire; Boss held his DC-17M in its "sniper" configuration and was peering down the holographic scope, while Fixer wielded the shuriken catapault he'd received from the Guardian, Yrrith. The humans strained their ears, listening.

Silence.

_No_, Samus thought. _There _is_ something_. With her heightened senses, she could hear a faint clicking or buzzing. _What is that_? Were the enemies of the Eldar overgrown arthropods? Boss looked back at Aran, shifted his gaze to Fixer, then resumed peering down the scope.

"_Possible contacts_," the orange-marked commando observed. "_A swarm of_--"

_They are Scarabs_, Taldeer's voice cut in, _advance scouts. Make ready and prepare for combat_!

As the Eldar force prepared itself, the ground around Samus's booted feet began to shift, as if something were burrowing beneath and around her. The bounty-hunter performed a back-flip, leaping away from the shifting soil and watched in silent horror as over a dozen skeletal humanoid machines tore through the ground with unbelievably long, clawed fingers and emerged like the undead. They literally looked like gleaming, metallic skeletons; their thoracic cavities glowed an eerie green - just like their vacant eye-sockets. Rotting, pallid, bleeding flesh was somehow attached to the skeletons as if it were part of a costume - some horrific, macabre parody of the living. Aran had seen many strange and bizarre things in her travels across her galaxy, but she found the horrors before her disturbing on a whole different level.

The stench of rotting flesh permeated Samus's helm; it was relatively harmless - otherwise, the suit would have automatically filtered it out. But it was still a revolting odor - the hardened bounty hunter suddenly felt a strong urge to be sick, and immediately suppressed it. Aran found herself staring into those empty, glowing cavities set into their skulls and froze in that instant. _Oh gods, what _are_ these things_?

As one, the stooped things turned to face Aran, staring right back at her with blank, vacant gazes - some of them flexed their long, clawed fingers, eliciting nerve-wracking screeching and scraping sounds of metal-on-metal. Every movement they made was accompanied by soft, mechanical hissing and clicking. Like a ragged mob, they ambled toward Samus, shuffling and heavily dragging their feet across the ground of the cavern. Suddenly, Aran was back on Aether, fending off the Ing-possessed corpses of the very Galactic Federation Marines she had initially been searching for.

Overcome by an inexplicable wave of utter terror, Samus loosed her charged shot at the closest of the Necron Flayed Ones. The shot hit the Necron square in its head, yet the beam only seared off the flesh that covered the thing's head. The sickening odor of burned fat and cooked meat mingled with the already revolting stench of death and decay - Samus suppressed a renewed urge to be ill. As if taking offense at Samus's attack, the Necron's eyes briefly flared with a poisonous, green light - but the Flayed One did not change its pace. The stooped monstrosity marched slowly, steadily, shuffling inexorably toward the silver-armored bounty hunter.

Samus fired wildly into the advancing Necrons, backpedaling away as she let out a strangled cry of fear. Aran was appalled at herself. _Why am I so afraid_? She had faced death on far more occasions than one could count - against giant monsters, hordes of Space Pirates, among a whole host of other hostile lifeforms she'd run into. Many of them seemed to be much more menacing, far more threatening than these walking buckets of bolts. What made them so terrifying?

_Get down!_

Almost reflexively, Aran dropped and hunkered down into the ground as best she could - even though every nerve, every fiber in her being _screamed_ at her, _run away_! A split-second later, a hail of thin projectiles buzzed over Aran, and a lance of light slashed through the advancing Necrons. The monstrosities faltered as a flurry of hissing shuriken pelted their necrodermis hides, and the Flayed Ones at the head of the group were slashed in half at the waist by the brightlance's lavender-white beam. To Aran's horror, the upper halves of those Necrons clawed their way across the ground, seemingly unaffected by the loss of their lower bodies.

Staggering to her feet, and with several blinks behind her helmet's visor, the silver-armored human bracketed five of the Necrons in her HUD. Once she acquired a lock, she simultaneously fired off five missiles that flew to the abominations she'd locked onto. Breathing heavily, Samus watched with some satisfaction as the Necrons she'd fired upon were consumed by the resulting explosions, leaving behind empty, lifeless, skeletal hulks. _All right_, the bounty hunter silently cheered, _so these things _do_ die!_

As if in response to Aran's optimism, the Flayed Ones shuddered and suddenly began moving again, their emerald eyes flaring, seemingly glaring at her with unbridled fury. In desperation, Samus switched from her power beam to her light beam by making a handsign within the armcannon, and wildly fired off a few shots. The resulting shafts of blinding, coruscating light pierced _through_ the Necrons she'd fired upon, causing the abominations to shatter into countless pieces of molten, silvering necrodermis. In seconds, even those fragments disappeared completely.

_What the..._?

Adding to her bewilderment, Aran saw a collection of energy pickups highlighted in her HUD, left where the Necrons once stood. Inwardly shrugging, the platinum-armored bounty hunter switched back to her power beam and charged it, drawing the power-ups to her. Upon absorbing the energies left by the Necrons, her suit's energy reserves and her limited "ammunition" stores - for her armcannon's light and dark beams - were replenished. _Now _that's_ convenient_, Aran thought.

Selecting her dark beam, this time, Aran targeted one of the remaining Necrons and fired. A slow-moving, glowing, purplish projectile discharged inexorably from the barrel of the bounty hunter's armcannon and hit the Flayed One. The dark energy seemed to solidify on contact, taking on a purple, crystalline appearance. The Necron flailed frantically and spasmed, as though the dark beam projectile were causing the mechanical being to suffer immense pain, before collapsing into a heap.

'_Nicely done, Samus!_' Boss's voice cut in over the bounty hunter's communications channel. Samus continued to mop up the rest of the Flayed Ones, gathering energy pickups as she did so. Boss continued '_we've got more incoming! Protect that transport, squad!'_

'_Copy that, Lead,_' Fixer replied.

With her left hand, Samus flashed a short string of gauntleted handsignals in Boss's general direction before blasting off the head of the last Flayed One. '_Acknowledged, Boss,_" she heard her translation device say over the communications channel. The silver-armored bounty-hunter then chose that moment to quickly observe the progress of the battle.

The Eldar had apparently dealt with the tiny Scarab beetles, already, and were currently engaged with the grim, hulking, Necron Warriors. The silvering, skeletal beings were similar in appearance to the Flayed Ones Aran had just dispatched, but they did not adorn themselves in the same grisly manner. In addition, they did not have long clawed fingers - instead, they carried massive, glowing projectile weapons of some sort, with twin blades affixed at the muzzle. The barrel, itself, appeared to be encased in some sort of transparent tube, crackling with green, electrical energy.

Eldar Guardians and Dark Reapers formed a firing line, bracing their legs apart and unleashing a firestorm of rockets and a sizzling flurry of shuriken; the Howling Banshees and Taldeer's seers waited behind them, poised to charge past their brethren and to engage the Necrons at close range. Taldeer stretched her delicate, gauntleted hand into the air and a brilliant white light flashed from her hand; in seconds, a maelstrom of eldritch enemies erupted over the heads of the Necrons and bolts of psychic energy struck the advancing monstrosities.

In retaliation, the Necron Gauss weapons unleashed bolts of white-green lightning at the Eldar - but the slender, black-clad aliens appeared to be too fast, dodging and dancing out of the enemy's arc of fire. Still, some of the Eldar were unlucky, and were hit by the bolts. Initially, it didn't appear that the victims had been hit - then they'd unleashed high-pitched, psychic screams of immense agony as they were slowly broken apart, molecule by molecule. With whooping, screeching war cries, the few Howling Banshees in the troop closed in on the silvering Necrons, shuriken pistols blazing and their long, glowing broadswords readied to strike. Charging right alongside the female warriors, the Seers and Warlocks unleashed bolts of psychic energy at the Necrons as they brought their witchblades into play.

Aran found herself riveted as she watched the Eldar fight, their motions graceful and fluid, and filled with purpose - not a single movement or ounce of energy seemed to be wasted as they twisted, leapt, and kicked their foes. The deceptively strong yet lithe Banshees danced among the Necron Warriors, slashing at the skeletal humanoids and managing to knock Gauss flayers off-target, sending their shots wide. The mechanical beings retaliated, and Aran witnessed just what those massive blades on their weapons were for.

With incalculable strength, one of the Necrons swung its massive Gauss weapon and bifurcated one of the Howling Banshees, causing the Eldar warrior to shriek in agony as she died. Another Necron swung its Gauss weapon around and slammed it into a Banshee, sending the Aspect Warrior flying through the air for several meters. With no mean skill, the dazed Eldar warrior managed to right herself in midair and deftly landed on her feet - however, momentum caused the Banshee to lose her balance and she rolled; but the Aspect Warrior continued the roll and was quickly back up on her feet, charging back into the fray to fight alongside her sisters. Aran found herself greatly impressed at the fighting ability the Eldar showed - they were easily the equals of the Chozo warriors described in the ancient folklore of the avian race.

As quickly as the confrontation had begun, the Eldar and their allies had eliminated the Necron force, which was composed of over twenty of the silvering Yngir - but the children of Isha weren't without their own casualties. The black-armored Guardians were missing nearly a quarter of their strength, and many of the faceless Wraithguard were missing and unaccounted for. The hodge-podge assortment of Aspect Warriors were also missing a considerable number from their already limited ranks. Farseer Taldeer and her retinue of seers, however, appeared not to have suffered any casualties.

From his elevated position, Boss took this all in after he picked off the upper half of a reanimated Necron Warrior with a high-velocity penetrator round from his Deece - the thing had been going after an Eldar Guardian whose back was turned. The Necron halted long enough for Boss to loose another shot at the Necron - the penetrator round smashed the Necron Warrior's skull-like countenance, and the thing dropped dead. Lowering the rifle, the orange-marked commando checked on his squadmates and was relieved to find them both intact. Fixer was busy policing the ruined, skeletal corpses of the Yngir, while Aran surveyed the battlefield as well.

Oddly enough, Three-Eight noted, there weren't any wounded amongst the Eldar. _Not like there's any chance for that_, the commando thought wryly - he'd seen what those Gauss weapons could do to a target. Forty and Samus milled about the Falcon tank, their respective weapons at the ready. The orange-marked commando eyed the silver-armored warrior for a moment - he had _also_ seen the incredible effectiveness of Aran's arm-cannon against the Necron threat. _Incredible weapons tech_, the commando thought. _Too bad we didn't have some of those to use against the clankers on Kashyyyk_. The commando was especially impressed with the power output of the bounty hunter's armcannon. To his dismay, however, he'd discovered that even a subsonic, armor-piercing projectile from his DC-17M blaster rifle wasn't enough to drop one of the skeletal droids. _If the sniper config couldn't take them down, I wonder how well the anti-armor configuration would fare_. The commando squelched the thought - an experiment like that, on seemingly low-value targets, would have been a foolish waste of valuable and _scarce _munitions.

The female Farseer currently gestured to the dark depths of the cavern. _We must press forward, brothers and sisters. Our sacrifices must not be made in vain! The way is long, and we must triumph over the Yngir if we are to succeed in our mission on Kronus!_ Emboldened by the Farseer's words, the Eldar regrouped, rallied and continued their advance through the silent caverns. With a handsignal from Three-Eight, the humans and the Falcon tank followed. The strike force trooped onward for seemingly countless kilometers, winding around gargantuan rock formations. The Eldar seemed indefatigable, even after the confrontation with the Necrons. The humans barely managed to keep pace with the slender aliens. Here and there, the strike force rendezvoused with detachments from the main force, including - Boss noticed - the remnants of Yrrith Tsor's squad. The humans and Taldeer's strike force followed the trail of destruction left behind the full might of Ulthwe's armies - innumerable, skeletal corpses of the Yngir lay strewn about the mountainous cavern floors, interspersed with the remnants of fallen Eldar warriors and the gutted, armored husks of their vehicles.

As the Eldar forces milled around a large ziggurat, Three-Eight caught Yrrith Tsor eyeing him, the Black Guardian turning her helmeted head and glancing at the clone commando from behind the red-tinted eyepieces set in her ivory, elongated helm. The female Guardian said nothing, but continued to observe the commando in silence. Boss said nothing, wary of starting a confrontation with the Eldar.

_Three-Eight_, Taldeer suddenly called out. The commando visually sought out the Farseer and spotted her at the crest of the large ziggurat they had secured. It was a decent, defensible position, with lots of cover and a clear view of the surrounding landscape - but Taldeer and her seers were making themselves big fat targets, visible to anyone within visual range. Nonetheless, the commando trudged up one of the steep ramps leading to the apex of the structure, making a it point to stand at the military crest of the hill, stopping a short distance from Taldeer.

The Seers' disgust at the human commando's presence was almost palpable - Three-Eight ignored them. _Snooty little _hut'uune._If they want to look down at the squad, they're welcome to_, the commando thought,_ as long as they're ready to have their long noses broken_. Some of the Seers flinched, as though they had heard his thoughts. Three-Eight didn't care - he didn't have the time nor the patience for their _osik_. Frankly, he didn't care for how ostentatious and indirect the Eldar Seers seemed to be; Delta Squad had earned a reputation for getting the job done, usually by being direct and without fooling around. And they were _good_ at it.

_We are not your enemy_, Taldeer reassured the commando.

'That may be so,' Boss replied over his helmet's external speakers, 'but that doesn't guarantee me that you won't turn on me or my squad.' The commando stared hard into the eyepieces of the elegant farseer's helm. 'We don't take too kindly to betrayal.' The Farseer inclined her head, slightly, toward the commando and stared at him for a moment, as if staring into - or through - him. Boss became uncomfortably aware that she was likely peering into his mind - he could feel the gentle psychic caresses in his mind, but he felt as if she were physically ministering to him.

_We have no reason to betray you_, the Farseer finally said. Despite himself, the orange-marked commando relaxed a bit and nodded. 'I'll hold you to that, Farseer. Now what're you orders?'

_The bulk of our forces will assault the enemy's stronghold and cover us as we plant the distort charge in the center. Your squad will accompany me and my retinue. We must move quickly to set up the charge, and we must escape from these infernal caverns with equal haste_. The farseer fixed the clone commando with an intense stare. _The way will be tumultous and fraught with danger, and even I cannot begin to fathom how many Children of Isha will fall to the Yngir_.

Three-Eight grunted, unsure of what to say. Casualties were always to be expected - it even happened in the horrifyingly realistic training simulations and scenarios that the clones had undergone while growing up on Kamino. But that didn't make it any easier when some of your own brothers were on the casualty list; Delta Squad, or what was left of it, now knew how it felt to lose brothers, nearly three years after the disastrous Battle of Geonosis.

_I wonder how Omega Squad and Vau are doing_, Three-Eight wondered.

_Come, Three-Eight. We must depart_. Boss shook himself from his thoughts and nodded in acknowledgement - saluting was forbidden in a combat zone, after all. 'Yes, Farseer.'

_I have another question for you,_ the Farseer's thoughts gently pressed into the clone commando's mind as they strode down the ziggurat to join the rest of Taldeer's retinue and Boss's companions. The Seer Council - clad in their dark, seemingly ornamental robes - followed their farseer and the orange-marked commando in silence, surrounding them both, their dual-bladed weapons seeming to glow with a blue light of their own. Through the blue-lit, T-shaped visor of his helmet, Three-Eight eyed the seers warily before answering Taldeer.

'Yes, Farseer?'

_When our mission on Kronus is over, what do you intend to do?_

'_Will_ it be over?' Three-Eight queried. He usually didn't bother thinking too much about the future - especially the far future. It was much too depressing and daunting - even when his squad had been whole. Now, with only Fixer and himself left from their original "pod" (as the Kaminoans referred to individual squads or fireteams), facing the unknowns of the future was a rather daunting prospect. _Especially now that we're stuck on this blasted rock... _

The black-armored farseer gave the heavily armored commando a graceful nod. _I have seen the end of this campaign_, she replied, _and victory is our fate, here. However, the future is everchanging, shaped by choices made in the now, and sometimes even in the past. As seers, we try to plot our course through the future, to secure a future for our craftworld. But while our course is clear, yours is not, Three-Eight. _

'What's _that_ supposed to mean?' Boss arched an eyebrow beneath his helmet, quizzically tilting his helmed head to one side. He tensed, readying himself for an ambush from the Eldar seers around him. But no ambush came.

_You were not in my visions at any point during our mission, here. None of you were_. The elegant farseer shook her head, _it was as though you had just been brought into existence. Like the vile servants of the Great Enemy. However, while we did not anticipate your presence, your company is most welcome. _

'What're you saying?' the orange-marked commando queried, genuinely perplexed.

_Do you have a place to return to, once this is over? _

'I've another war to fight,' Three-Eight replied without a hint of hesitation. 'We were in the middle of a fight when we first came here. I intend to go back, if at all possible.' Taldeer paused, physically halting, seemingly mulling over the commando's words.

_I doubt you will be successful in your venture, _the farseer said in a rather sad tone. _But if it is any consolation, you are welcome among us on Ulthwe_.

'Thank you for the offer, Farseer,' Boss replied slowly. 'But I think we'll try to find a way home, first, before we give up and settle in here.' _Home?_ Three-Eight thought. _At _home_, I'm a clone with no rights, no vote, and I've even been denied my humanity - all by the very Republic I'm sacrificing my artificially shortened life to protect and serve. But what else could I do?_ Boss felt uneasy following that line of thought. It was much easier, much neater and tidier, to just receive orders and to carry them out without question.

And yet, things had become much harder and murkier - especially after they had been _ordered_ to abandon Delta One-Two-Oh-Seven on Kashyyyk. They never did find Sev's body or his armor - they couldn't even find his armor tally, a plastoid chip that served as a clone soldier's "dogtags." Even though they had obeyed orders, it felt _wrong_ to leave one of their own behind. And it _hurt_ to lose their brother - it especially affected Scorch, who had been from the same batch as Sev. Boss shook his head, clearing his mind of any thoughts about his lost squadmates. _No time to mourn_, he reprimanded himself. He could almost hear his training sergeant sneering coldly at him and his squad, back in Kamino. _Get your _shebs_ back into it, Thirty-Eight - you're letting your squadmates down. You're letting the whole _shabla _Republic down._ _You're letting_me_ down. Are you this weak? Are you this soft and lazy? Pathetic, the lot of you_dar'manda, _you dead men!_

_Sarge..._

Boss suddenly became aware of Taldeer placing a delicate, gauntleted hand on his armored shoulder pauldron. She had a deceptively strong grip. 'Strength must be you,' the young farseer actually spoke, her voice sounding strained as though it were unnatural - or painful - for her to speak. It probably was, the commando reflected, as he hadn't heard her actually speak, before. Indeed, the seers seemed to be shocked that their farseer was lowering herself to the human's level, communicating with him. 'Release must you,' Taldeer continued, 'mission focus must you. Many work us for to do. Much fighting.'

Three-Eight nodded, feeling emboldened by the moment of solidarity. 'Yes, Farseer,' the orange-marked commando affirmed, 'we've got a job to do.'

To be continued...

Author's Notes:

Yeah, I changed Aran's transformation sequence, a bit closer to what one sees in the Metroid Prime games. Especially Metroid Prime 3: Corruption, recently released on the Wii. Makes more sense if you ask me, really. It's instantaneous. Although the brilliant flashing of light might make it hard for sneaking about. I've decided to split this story arc up into two or three parts. Let's see how it goes.


End file.
